


The Last Of U.S.

by shiveringhand



Category: The Last of Us (Video Games)
Genre: Adventure, Gen, Pandemics, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:27:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28049214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiveringhand/pseuds/shiveringhand
Summary: An odd radio signal keeps bugging Abby and Lev in their new job as the Fireflies’ radio operators.
Relationships: Abby & Lev (The Last of Us)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	The Last Of U.S.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shipsty_Snow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shipsty_Snow/gifts).



It's summer and the sun burns hot already despite it being barely noon. Waves crash the shore in regular intervals, making the sand underneath it smooth and silky. Abby and Lev lay on the beach near the Fireflies' Santa Barbara headquarter's round building. They've got a large striped parasol under which the boy sips his soda, not caring much for the sun. Abby lays on her stomach, in direct sunlight, hoping to get a tan. Her bikini top is untied to maximize the effect, and her muscular arms glisten with sunscreen and sweat. 

"Do you think Jessica minds that I left last night's shift in a rush?" Lev wonders out loud as he stretches, faint scars still visible on his bare chest. 

"Depends if you cleaned after yourself, or just let her find all your trash this morning," Abby shoots back, scratching her neck. Her hair is short and styled with a silightly overgrown undercut. 

"Aw c'mon!" the boy laughs blushing. “It was just one time.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

They have nowhere to be. It's their day off. Lev has a night shift at the radio station but it's still hours away. His blue pineapple printed shorts ruffle as he shifts in his seat, trying to get comfortable.

“I got that odd signal again last night,” Lev rubs his nose, getting grease stains from sunscreen on his Ray Bans.    
  
“Again?” Abby groans, turning her head towards the boy. She squints her eyes in the bright sun. There’s stripes on her face from the towel she’s been resting against. “Do you think we ought to report it?”   
  
“Well,” Lev sighs. "Obviously I did that already. But they just told me to mind my own business. Said it was probably just a bug in the system or something. You know how sometimes it does that?”   
  
“How many times can we get the same bug though? And you recalibrated the machines?”   
  
“I did!”    
  
“And yet?”   
  
“Mh-hmm!” Lev nods, taking a sip from his soda thoughtfully. 

Suddenly Abby gets restless. She starts hastily tying the bikini top back on and grabs her towel, intending to leave.

“What’s the rush?” Lev frowns, fixing his posture.

“I’m gonna ask Becky to change shifts with me. Tonight, we’ll get to the bottom of this!” she shouts, marching toward the building. The sun highlights her muscles, she's been slowly regaining some weight and getting back on her workout routine.

“Hey no, wait- I’ve been tryin’ to get a shift with her for months, please no!” Lev begs, running after her but Abby’s already climbing up a small cliff, waving her beach towel in one hand as if to prove how irrelevant that is compared to the importance of their quest. 

That night Lev and Abby share a shift at the radio station in the Fireflies new headquarters, much to the young boy’s displeasure. While Abby reroutes and trouble-shoots all their equipment, Lev simply pouts and sits in his chair, headphones firmly on both ears. Eventually Abby has to admit everything is in as good a condition as they’ll ever be, considering how they can’t exactly just walk into a store and buy new radio transmitters. She sits back down beside Lev in a cozy yellow armchair and unzips her hoodie. Even though it’s almost midnight, it’s too hot to wear anything as warm as that. The white fabric of her tank top glues against her sturdy chest despite the lazy old ceiling fan doing it’s very best at cooling the room temperature down. 

“I’ve arranged for you and Becky to have a shift together next thursday,” Abby says, putting on her headphones but only covering one ear. When Lev doesn’t seem to pay her any mind she kicks the foot of his chair to get his attention.

“What?” Lev snarls.

“Did you hear that? I said-”   
  
“Shh!” Lev interrupts her. “There it goes again! That strange signal.”   
  
“No fucking way,” Abby groans, setting her headphones on properly and adjusting the channel. “I even wiped dust off the solar panels! This has to be some sick joke, I swear,” she murmurs and Lev hushes her again, waving a hand impatiently in her direction. 

They hear something among the whitenoise of the channel that sounds almost like words but not quite. Lev turns the volume up, and they just stare at each other in confusion and suspense.    
  
“What the fuck?” Abby mouths silently over the rustling of the channel. 

Lev shakes his head, grinning, partly at the loudness of the noise, partly at the whole situation. 

“T…… ttthhhrr……..pnt….zrrrr“

Abby stands up just enough to slap the side of the machine, trying to clear the bad reception. 

“Sounds like numbers,” Lev says louder than necessary, trying to hear his own voice from under all the static. 

“Trthhthy….four…...zero…... one…...fourty fffvve…. shhh, trrr…..”

“True!” Abby gasps and waves both hands frantically, looking for a piece of paper. 

Lev digs a pen from his back pocket, grabs a notebook from the floor and starts writing. 

“Thirty four,” he mumbles, biting the end of his pen, scribbling down what he can make of it. “Zero point four… Maybe it's a distress signal?"

Abby drops the headphones all together and walks over to the large map covering the wall behind them. She traces a finger over the general area of their location, listening to the faint rattling and cracking bleeding from Lev’s headphones. A moment passes as the boy focuses on the transmission.

“I- I think I've got their location!" Lev jumps from the chair, almost stumbling over his open backpack, and pauses in front of the map. It's a roof to floor size display of southern California. 

Abby crosses her arms, "You got the coordinates?"

"I think so," Lev rubs his head, shifting his gaze between the map and his notes. "It's coming from the sea. A shipwreck maybe?”

He gets back to the desk and opens the frequency. "This is FSB01, foxtrot sierra bravo zero one. Do you copy? Over." The radio lets out a painful whine, forcing Lev to pull the headset off. "I repeat, This is FSB01, foxtrot, sierra, bravo, zero one. Do you copy? Over," he repeats, louder, cringing as he sets the headphones back on his ears. Lev tries to contact them a few more times before the audio stops completely again as suddenly as it had appeared. Helpless, he gives up and turns to Abby. She looks disappointed.

"Let's go check it out!" Lev suggests, a wild spark lighting up in his eyes.

"Are you crazy? We're not allowed to leave our post!" Abby reminds him.

"It will be quick," he insists. "They won't even notice." Lev grabs his backpack and pulls a handgun out, counting the bullets. "Well, come on now!" he urges Abby. "It's a distress signal. You know what the protocol for that is!" 

\---

Abby and Lev grab their bags and sneak out. Wanting to avoid raising any questions, they row a motorboat out of the harbor and only start the engine once they’re far away enough from the base. Lev pulls up his hoodie’s zipper as the light drizzle of saltwater hits him. Abby, too stubborn to have put her hoodie back on, clenches her jaw in the nightly breeze. The sky is cloudy and the wind seems to drill right through her green cargo pants. She squints her eyes as she sets course for the assumed source of the distress signal. 

Despite the boat’s frontlight, they can’t see more than a few yards ahead. After an hour spent in pitch black darkness, listening to the loud hum of the engine, they’re relieved to approach a small island near the coordinates.

“Let’s beach here and walk the rest of the way,” Abby tells Lev who simply nods, moves to the bow and starts collecting the rope. 

Once their boat is firmly tied to a tree and conveniently hidden from view in the reeds growing wild by the shore, they continue on foot. Abby clears a way for them, cutting through branches and hay as she goes. Lev follows her, nose deep in a map that he observes in the flickering of his flashlight. A moment later, they reach a clearing. Panting and wiping sweat off her forehead, Abby stops, not sure which way to go. 

“How much further?”

“Look!” Lev exclaims, pointing at a cliff behind Abby’s shoulder. There, by the shore, a small freighter ship luls, docked in. The wooden pier looks ready to be swallowed by the ocean.

"That's them?" Abby wonders. 

"Has to be! The coordinates match," Lev replies, checking his map once more. "And it doesn't seem like there's any other ship around, does it?"

"Hmm," Abby rubs her chin. "Can you see a way down?" 

"I mean..." Lev smirks.

"One that I can actually follow you through."

Lev looks around in the dim moon light, chucking to himself. "Yeah, this one's safe. Don't worry."

They make their way down to the shore and approach the ship. If it wasn’t for the distress signal, without any lights on and in such a remote location, it would be easy to assume it was abandoned long ago.

"Suppose it’s engine failure?" Abby thinks out loud. The old planks of the pier feel slippery under her boots. 

"Most likely," Lev nods.

Abby stops him. "What if it's a trap? They've got no-one on the lookout for a rescue team. Isn't that odd?"

"It's midnight. Might not be wise to draw attention to a ship stuck on shore. In case of the- you know," Lev says, spreading out a hand over his ear to imitate the outward appearance of an advanced stage infected.

"You're right," Abby agrees. “Let’s be careful, still.”

There seems to be no boarding ramp leading to the ship, so Abby rips a thick plank off the pier and places it down to serve as one. 

“After you,” she jokes, not really looking forward to balancing her feet on the slimy old thing. The sea foams underneath dangerously, waves reaching towards her as if ready to pull her down.

“It’s like riding a bike, really,” the boy smirks. “Once you learn it-”   
  
“Just go!” 

Lev crosses over with little to no effort, turning to wave at Abby from the other side with a wide grin on his face. Abby’s palms sweat as she takes her first step on the shaky ramp. Swearing under her breath nervously she advances, wondering why she agreed to the whole thing in the first place. She forces her feet forward despite the fear. Releasing the air in her lungs, she hops down to the deck and feels her knees buckle. The cold metal grounds her as she pants in relief for a few seconds, trying to catch her bearings. 

“Well done!” Lev congratulates her, squeezing her shoulder. 

“Thanks…” Abby mutters, getting back up.

They look around and listen. The deck is empty aside from a row of bright red cargo crates. The ropes tying them down creak in a lazy rhythm as the ship sways. As they walk past the corner of the containers, Abby notices a faint light coming from the control room. She nudges at Lev, pointing towards it and the boy nods in agreement.

As they sneak closer, they see the shadows of three people inside the room. Lev gets in position by the door, ready to give covering fire if needed, while Abby crouches under a window and tries to hear what they’re talking about. They seem to be arguing about something, but it’s impossible to make sense of their muffled voices through the thick metal wall. Standing up again, Abby glances at Lev who nods, aiming his gun, waiting for her next step. She takes a deep breath and knocks on the door. 

Lively conversation on the other side ends abruptly and heavy footsteps approach. They hear furniture being pushed aside and the door flings open. A large man in his late fifties with a green woolen shirt and fingerless gloves stands before them. He relaxes his tense posture at the sight of a small boy and a woman, despite being held on gunpoint.

"How'd you get in here?" he asks, and even though he tries to appear calm, he looks around, trying to estimate how many more of them there are.

"Who is it, cap?" a sailor behind him asks.

"Which faction are you?" Abby inquires. Neither her nor Lev lower their guns. 

"Faction?" the large man, their captain, frowns and scratches his short curly hair.

"The ship's side read C57. I assume that stands for California. Don't think we've had many merchant boats in this area before." Abby eyes the sailors sitting inside the control room, hands on holsters, bright yellow vests flashing everytime light hits them at the right angle. The vests look new.

"We ain't from around here, miss," the captain admits. "The C stands for Canada."

"Canada?" Lev repeats, astonished.

"We received your distress signal. What seems to be the problem?" Abby fixes her grip on the firearm, still not entirely convinced the whole thing's not just a set up to lure unassuming adventurers in.

The captain sighs, walks back inside and signs for the couple to follow him. They comply. Lev shoves his pistol in the back pocket of his pants.

"Are you sure we should be interacting with them?" one of the sailors, a lanky young man mutters under his breath, looking Abby and Lev up and down. He’s unable to hide the discomfort he's in over the suspenseful meeting. 

They all stand in a circle around a table, awkwardly observing each other, trying to make sense of the situation. The light of a single lantern plays on their faces. 

"That distress call," the captain speaks slowly, weighing his words carefully, "was meant for our... friends, father out at sea." He walks over to a computer and types something before turning back to face the room. "Where do you come from? As I understand it this… island's not inhabited?"

"Correct," Lev replies, crossing his arms.

"Our base is nearby," Abby says, not wanting to reveal too much. 

The third man, an older sailor, pulls out a small rectangular object with a bright screen from the pocket of his vest, turns it horizontally and aims it towards Abby and Lev, trying to hide his excitement.

"Is that a mobile phone?" Abby frowns.

The old sailor lets out a small laughter. His colleague, however, is everything but delighted. "I'm serious, cap. You know what they say…" he mutters, scratching his forehead nervously.

"Your ship needs fixing. Come with us to the mainland and our group can help you out," Abby says firmly, wishing the sailors would stop acting so strange.

"Ah! Thank you. That is very kind of you," the captain smiles politely. "However I do believe our excellent engineers have things under control." He says it almost condescendingly.

"I see. How'd you obtain such technology?" Abby asks then, pointing at the phone. Its screen burns bright in the sailor's breast pocket as he seems to be receiving multiple messages at once.

The two sailors exchange looks, increasingly awkward.

"They don't know, cap," the younger one says.

"Shit," the other one laughs. "So the stories are true!"

"What stories? Abby?" Lev asks, annoyed at yet another old world reference. He's never heard of a portable phone.

Abby stares ahead, breathing heavy, starting to get frustrated.

The captain runs a hand over his beard, clearly trying to think of what to do. 

"We have our orders, cap," the young sailor squeaks. "You know they might even be…  _ infectious _ ."

"We're clean," Lev interrupts him, offended.

"All units operating in its close proximity have strict international orders to keep the US quarantined," the captain says to himself more than anyone else in the room.

"What was the specific order again, sir?" the older sailor grins, somehow finding the whole situation amusing.

From behind the captain's shoulder, the younger one recites, "Shoot on sight. The order was to shoot on sight, any US citizen approaching the borders, sir!"

The captain grunts, seemingly conflicted by the instructions he's got. He knows what he's supposed to do. 

"You're going to shoot innocent women and children? You Canadians have strange laws!" Lev spits. 

The old sailor lets out a dry laugh.

"Lev," Abby calms the boy, stepping in front of him protectively. Whatever the crew is on about, one thing is for sure, they won't be the last ones standing if push comes to shove.

The captain lowers his arm to his belt buckle.

"Can you believe the nerve of these kids?" the old sailor wheezes and digs out his phone again to type something.

"None of you will walk out of here alive if you so much as touch him," Abby warns them, getting ready to pull her gun out.

"Easy now," the captain hushes, raising his arms in a soothing manner. His movements are intentionally slow, not wanting to cause any trouble. "You're refugees. In need of rescue. We're not shooting anyone today."

"But cap!" the skinny one gasps. 

"Now now, Fernando," the captain scolds him, "let's first make sure they're telling the truth." He addresses Abby and Lev as if they'd have no language in common. "Would you be so kind as to roll up your sleeves? I'll be right back." He grabs his rifle and leaves the room.

Lev does as he's told, albeit reluctantly. Abby crosses her sleeveless arms and leans her weight from one foot to the other, giving the two sailors a bad eye.

With the captain gone, the old sailor chuckles and waves a finger. "Lift your shirt too, beauty" he says, face melting into a nasty grin.

Not wanting to cause more trouble than needed, Abby pulls up the hem of her white tank top, revealing a well toned stomach underneath. 

"Now, turn around."

"We're clean!" she protests.

"Hurry up!" 

Abby does that, all too aware of the two guys behind her. As one of them takes a step closer she turns around fast, smashes the old sailor's nose and grabs him in a choke hold before he can so much as call for help. Lev isn't much slower than her. He kicks the skinny sailor in the knee as hard as he can, sending the guy moaning to his feet. The older sailor chokes up blood, spitting and scratching Abby's arm, without much effect. The sensation of the guy’s claws at her merely make her squeeze harder. Lev finds a metal toolbox and is just about to swing it at his own victim when the door opens again, and in walks a skinny old man in a wool hat and thick round glasses, the captain on his heels.

"Goodness!" the old man gasps in the most upper class british way imaginable, as if the four of them had just been caught stealing cupcakes instead of picking up a fight. The man steps closer and places his suitcase on the table.

"Let them go," the captain commands, without much vigor in his voice. He sighs and rubs his temples. 

Abby drops the sailor and he collapses on the ground next to his colleague, wheezing and clutching to his throat. "What's going on? Who's this?" she asks, raising her voice.

"I'm Doc Pallavi," the old man replies, smiling from ear to ear in a soft calming way. "I'm the ship's medic and I would like to run a few tests to make sure there are no signs of infection in either of you. If you would please follow me to my quarters?" 

Abby and Lev glance at each other and after a moment of hesitation nod slowly. 

"Should I send somebody over to keep guard?" the captain grunts with a glance at the two sailors still lying on the floor.

"Oh, that won't be necessary," Doc Pallavi chuckles charmingly. He digs into his suitcase for an ice pack and some painkillers for the wounded men, before making his way down a staircase leading below deck. 

Lev follows him, visibly confused. It's his first time inside a ship this size. Abby stays right behind him. As she walks past the captain he extends his arm, blocking her way down.

"Please don't kill him. He's all we've got," he says, perhaps aiming at a jovial smile but in his almost toothless condition it looks more like a pained grin.

"Not my intention," Abby replies, tilting her head back stubbornly, a little offended. 

"Good, good," the captain says, letting Abby pass.

In the medbay, Doc Pallavi runs blood tests and checks both of them for bite marks. He's nothing short of professional, chatting and smiling throughout the procedures as if they were old friends. Abby waits in his office while him and Lev have a talk about his medical history. 

The office is rather bare, simple metal walls, an inbuilt bookcase with no books in it and a desk with a very slim grey laptop on it. Abby opens its cover carefully, looking around, making sure no-one sees her snooping. Doc Pallavi's desktop wallpaper is a photograph of him and a white man with a wild mane of light brown hair, sitting in a garden surrounded by strange flowers Abby can't name. The couple has their arms around each other and they look happy and carefree. Abby looks at the file names on his desktop but doesn't find a mouse to control the cursor with. She even checks inside a drawer but they're all empty. For a doctor's office, the lack of paper really bothers her. Unable to control the laptop she presses the screen back down and takes a seat opposite the desk just in time before the doctor and his patient get back. 

"You both are in excellent condition, considering your, hmm... background," the doctor announces as soon as he's seated behind his desk. "Abby, you have a vitamin C deficiency. Here's something for that," he hands over a pill bottle. "Once the ship gets fixed we'll set course to Vancouver, and if your lab results come back negative, I will naturally be able to prescribe you with the Cordyceps injection." 

"Cordy- what?" Lev frowns.

Abby's eyes fling wide open "Youre saying-" she squeezes her hands into fists, unable to finish her sentence. Doc Pallavi just sits there, behind his desk and smiles softly. 

Lev gets instantly worried. "Abs? They're taking us to Canada?" he asks, nervous. 

Abby takes a deep breath and wipes her eyes roughly. "You're saying there's a cure? You- you guys managed to create a vaccine?" 

The doctor nods comfortingly and his whole being radiates of just how sorry he feels for the two of them and their kind. 

"My father-" Abby begins, voice breaking. She clears her throat, "My father dedicated his whole life to finding a cure and he came pretty fucking close too but-" 

Doc Pallavi places a soothing hand over her firm shoulder, offering a napkin. Lev just stares at them both, starstruck. 

"I'll see if I can find you a change of clothes," the doctor says, standing up. He makes his way to the door and pauses. "I'm terribly sorry but before the lab results are cleared we're going to have to quarantine you both." 

\---

For a lack of a better location on the small ship, Abby and Lev are locked in a chain-link fenced storage under the deck. It’s not much larger than the doctor’s office, and filled up with wooden crates. Left alone behind bars Lev inspects the cage, trying to see if he could find any tearing in the wire to use as an escape route. Abby just sits on the floor, hunched, covering her head in her arms.

"Getting caged in is what they call freedom, huh?" Lev grins, hoping to catch the other's attention. "What do you suppose the captain meant by us being in need of rescue?"

No response. 

"You never mentioned your dad," Lev then tries quietly, observing the sad sight in front of him. He takes a seat on a crate opposite Abby and babbles on, just to keep his nerves at bay. "You know, the Prophet believed the disease was caused by unclean lifestyle choices. And that it could be cured by virtue and purity alone."

"Gotta love an anti-vaxxer," Abby scoffs.

"What's an anti-vaxxer?"

Abby lifts her head and smiles at Lev.

"Don't give me that stupid look!" the boy warns her.

"What look?"

"Like you pity me for not knowing old world stuff. It's not my fault I was brought up in a cult, okay?"

Abby’s smile fades, and she looks at Lev thoughtfully, "That's the first time you called it a cult."

"Was it?"

"Yeah."

Lev runs a hand through his short hair and sighs. They sit in silence for a while, lulling along with the ship.

"Are we seriously going to Van Copper with them?" he asks then. "Do you really think they have the cure?" 

"Vancouver,” Abby corrects him, ignoring the questions. “Have you seen the sort of technology they have here?"

"Well, yeah. Old world tech. Fireflies have that too," he shrugs.

"No, I mean, yeah. Yeah we do," Abby agrees. "But not like this. The doc's laptop was as thin as a cracker. Everyone's clothes look new, _factory_ _made_ even, and that mobile phone - there wasn't anything remotely similar to it back in the..." she plays with the short hair falling on her forehead nervously.

Lev frowns, unable to imagine what she’s hinting at. "The Canadians were better at surviving? Maybe they've restarted factory production?"

"Yeah, right. Isn't like 90% of the world's population wiped out, anyway?" Abby scoffs.

Lev looks at his palms. There's engine oil and dust on them. "Why quarantine us if they're immune to it?” 

Abby seems to think about it for a while.

"To think they'd created an actual cure and not share it with the world!" Lev sighs. "Maybe it's still a prototype?"

Abby shakes her head. "It would be an expensive and exclusive prototype. Doubt the kind of people distributing it would be sailing a rusty old tin can like this. 'Hop aboard, get yours today!'" Abby mocks, with a fake british accent. 

Lev lets out a short giggle. "It does sound a bit too good to be true, doesn't it?" he agrees, voice sinking. 

They sit in silence for a moment again.

"Maybe if they-"

"It's a trap! Has to be." Abby shoots up from the ground. "Can't you see? There's no cure. They're just a thieving group of liars, preying on well intending folks like us, faking futuristic looking tech to win people over before they strike and steal everything we hold dear!"

Disappointed and horrified at her words, Lev nods, "We've got to get off this ship!"

"Better yet," Abby scoffs, "we ought to sink it. Put an end to their cruel games." 

She jerks the metal bars of their cell, gritting her teeth. Suddenly the ship's engine starts with a loud roaring bang. The hull shakes and tilts violently, sending both Abby and Lev, as well as all loose objects, flying across the cell. 

"We're moving!" Lev gasps, struggling to stand back up from under a pile of crates. 

As soon as Abby gets her bearings she stumbles over to Lev and starts digging through the debris to get him on his feet. “Hang on!”

"Abby!" Lev shouts and points at a crate that has fallen over. It's content, several metal bars, lie on the ground between them and the door. 

"Good idea!" Abby roars over the sound of the engine and pulls Lev up from the ground. She grabs the metal bar closest to her and breaks the lock with it. It only takes a few well aimed hits for it to completely give in and bust open.

"Let's go!"

"Do you think they heard us?" Lev asks following her. 

"They must've been too busy with the engine." 

They find several large canisters of gas and drag them across the hall, to one side of the ship.

"This should do it," Abby estimates. "Got a lighter?"

Lev hands one over, his face full of admiration for Abby's decisiveness and yet, a hint of sorrow, a moment of doubt. 

They splash some gas on the floor and make a line of it to the door and all the way up to the deck. No-one bothers them for the whole time they build their makeshift bomb.

"Let's get our stuff," Abby whispers as they sneak back down. "They must still be in the Doc's office unless they've already distributed the loot."

Lev nods and they rush through the lower deck, nearing the medbay. 

At the door Abby turns to the boy, wanting to advise him, "Remember, whatever they say, it's a lie-".

Before she can finish her sentence a man appears out of nowhere and grabs Abby from behind, intending to stab her. To his great surprise her military training kicks in, and without a moment's hesitation Abby pulls him off the ground and smashes him back down with full force. 

"They're turning! Quick, send back up!" the guy moans in pain, trying to warn the others over a radio phone. 

Abby rips the transmitter from him and throws it against a wall. The guy pulls his knife out again and tries aiming at either of their feet. Abby steps aside just in time for Lev to kick his face in. The man passes out instantly.

"That was close," Lev whispers, picking the guy's knife up.

"Too close. Come on!" Abby replies and they sneak further into the medbay. 

They've got no time to waste, since the whole ship assumingly heard the warning. Most of the lights are down but even in the dim glow of the doc’s laptop, they can see their backpacks still where they were left off before their confinement. Lev rushes to grab his pistol. Abby loads a shotgun and stuffs her pocket with extra ammunition. In their rush to gather their equipment neither of them hear the approaching footsteps.

"Leaving so soon?" Doc Pallavi's voice echoes in the room. He casts a long, slim shadow in the doorway of his office.

Both Abby and Lev turn around, pointing their guns at him.

"I know you both are too young," the doctor smiles calmly, "to even grasp what a fully lit city looks like against the velvety backdrop of a night sky, but in Vancouver you-," 

"Lies!" Abby interrupts him and steps closer, the barrel of her shotgun aimed right in the doctor's chest. 

"What a pity to part our ways like this…"

"Don't you pity us," Lev shouts. "You filthy thiefs!"

They grab their backpacks and advance towards the door. The doctor steps aside to make way for them, clearly not looking to start a fight, wisely so, since he's so fragile in form either one of them could easily snap him in half with one arm. 

In the hallway they hear approaching footsteps. Rays of flashlights hover over the night sky as the backup arrives to find the guard lying by the medbay door. Abby and Lev manage to sneak past them and on to the main deck. They hide behind the pile of barrels where their gas trail ends.

"You can make the distance, right?" Abby asks, trying to estimate how far from the shore they are.

Lev nods. He gets in position on the edge of the ship, ready to jump at command. Abby squats down and lights up the gas with Lev's lighter. She wants to make sure their plan works so she follows the rapidly advancing line of flames to the hatch leading downstairs. She slams shut the only way out and blocks it with a heavy crate. By the sound of it, the flames reach the angry mob below deck in an instant. 

"Now!" Abby shouts and turns to sprint after Lev.

The boy jumps without second guessing and as the ocean sucks him in its ice cold embrace, he has to physically force himself to get back on the surface. A large wave crashes over him as the bomb goes off at the bottom of the ship, and with great effort Lev manages to get his head above the water again. The ship itself makes a threatening metallic sound as it starts slowly but surely to sink down, cargo crates sliding off it's edges and splashing into the dark abyss. Lev's heart beats fast. Every limb feels stiff and unmoving, as if someone was pulling him down. 

"Abby!" he cries out in shock, hearing and seeing nothing but the overwhelming roaring emptiness of the sea. He tries hard not to hyperventilate as the mixture of his own tears and salt water clog up his nose. 

"Abby!" he yells hoarsely; it's nothing but a weak choked up whisper.

"This way, Lev!" her voice echoes from somewhere far away. 

In his panicked state Lev has no way of evaluating which way the shout comes from. All his attention goes to battling the waves. He pants and spits, swallowing burning sea water, gulp after gulp. Despite his relentless training and supposedly excellent stamina, only a few moments in the freezing water wear him out completely and he feels as if he'd run a marathon. 

Suddenly someone grabs him from behind, jerking him under the surface to pull his backpack off. He realizes he doesn't have it in him to fight back. Somehow, relieved at the thought of his end coming, he feels warm. The rough swirls of the ocean feel soft and its tight claws seem welcoming. It's the Prophet's embrace, her firm muscular arms, carrying him home. 

"Lev, you with me?" Abby roars over the rush of waves and wind. She pulls him back above the waves with force and secures her hold around his chest. "Lev!"

Abby's demanding voice brings Lev back to his senses and he coughs and vomits the acid water, realizing he almost drowned. "Abby!" he sobs, clutching to her arm.

"We're almost there. Stay with me!" Abby says firmly, making strong controlled strokes towards the shore. "Stay with me, Lev!" she repeats until Lev feels solid ground brush against the soles of his feet. 

Abby drags the boy ashore and collapses next to him, panting and groaning. At the other end of the windy and dark beach a loud hungry group of infected growl and shriek, approaching them with dangerous velocity. The noise of the explosion had undoubtedly startled the dormant island's wild inhabitants.

"Demons," Lev says weakly, trying to support himself with a shaky pair of arms. 

"Let's keep going!" Abby shouts back, standing up with effort herself. 

Abby pulls Lev up and they start running. Despite the sharp leaves and tree branches cutting wounds on their salt water soaked bodies, they manage to get through the island. The boat remains tied up where they left it. Panting and shaking, Lev rushes to untie the rope with numb fingers, while Abby fights off a couple of the infected with her bare hands. 

Once afloat Abby tries to start the engine. She gives it three, four, five swift and sturdy pulls, blood stained arms glistening in the break of dawn, but nothing happens.

"Try again?" Lev suggests, too exhausted to stand up from his seat. After a few more rounds of vigorous yet unsuccessful pulls Abby gives up and starts rowing.

Lev hugs himself, shivering in the cold wind, clothes soaking wet, covered in blood and mud. 

Their boat emerges from amids the reeds and floats on the waves now starting to calm down as clouds clear, revealing a strand of faint blue behind it. Can't be much later than five in the morning. The air smells fresh.

"Abby, What if they-"

"Don't," Abby warns him. She pants, breaking a sweat from the sheer effort.

"What if they spoke the truth, Abs?"

She stops rowing. Sitting in the bow of the boat, Lev can’t see her face but he observes the young woman’s hunched back and tight shoulders, expecting an answer. 

"We're not going back up north just to follow some rumor!"

"It's a lead," Lev insists. 

Abby runs a hand over her face and sighs. Without another word she continues rowing, somehow with even more strength than previously, despite being completely exhausted. 

In the misty morning their boat looks small and lonely against the backdrop of the vast ocean. If someone were to observe them from the beach it would look like Abby and Lev simply got swallowed by the fog and disappeared from view, like they'd never even left their post back at the Firefly radio station. 


End file.
